


A Man Can Hope

by MissKitsune08



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Frenemies, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Inner Demons, Kallus's backstory, Technically an AU now (written before Zero Hour), male-male friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 12:43:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10278335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissKitsune08/pseuds/MissKitsune08
Summary: Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness. Agent Kallus needs to learn how to protect his mind from Imperial interrogators, the Rebels need to learn to forgive their former enemy.





	

 

The Rebels were late. Four hours, twenty five minutes late to be precise.

Agent Kallus was sitting in the cockpit of his Imperial _Lambda_ -class shuttle, scanning the orbit for any incoming vessels. Nothing. He sighed in frustration and leaned back into the pilot’s chair; maybe they would never answer his summons. Maybe he should just start up the engine and return to the main fleet. However, they have come to his aid before, how was this situation different from back then?

Well, this time _he_ had asked them for their help.

He ran one more scan, tapping his fingers absentmindedly on the board. He would at least wait until the end of the standard day; perhaps they encountered an Imperial blocade or perhaps they have been operating too far away to come at such short notice. His last transmission had been much shorter and more vague than usual, he couldn’t have afforded the possibility of letting it be intercepted by the Empire.

 _Meet me at the place where it all began. Bring only the Annoying Kid and the Blind Beggar, no one else. I need to talk to them_.

Just why they were not coming?

He had no idea how long he had been staring outside, watching the snow storm raging on. And he definitely had no idea when his eyelids had started getting heavier, when his muscles had started losing their tonus, when his consciousness started slipping away…

He only remembered jumping from his seat out in shock when the ship’s comm system beeped, hitting his head on the low cockpit ceiling in the process. “Kriff!” he muttered an old Imperial curse.

“Kallus? Kallus, hey, are you there?” came Garazeb Orrelios’s voice from the comm speaker.

“Zeb!” Kallus cried out in relief, looking at ship’s scanners to see a ship entering the low orbit, broadcasting its identification codes at him. It was the _Ghost_ , they came. And they came alone. He let out a deep sigh in relief.

“Kallus, this had better be good,” said a deep male voice belonging to the Jedi Knight, Kanan Jarrus, making it very clear from his tone that the other man was not overly enthusiastic to meet him.

“Jarrus, please, I really need your help,” the Jedi could not have imagined how much it pained Kallus to admit that out loud, “Will you let me come over and explain everything in person?”

The comm went silent for several seconds, to Kallus it seemed like an eternity. “Fine.” Came a stern reply. “But we are having the talk aboard your ship, there is no way we are letting you aboard the _Ghost_ until we figure out what’s going on.”

“Understood. I will lower the ramp for you.” It stung a bit but it was a reasonable security precaution. Had the moon had not been so inhospitable, Kallus would imagine that the initial talk would take place on the moon’s surface, a neutral ground.

He waited until the modified freighter safely landed on the icy surface, pushing the controls to lower the ramp when he could see three figures coming his way. The effect was immediate, it seemed like all the heat got sucked out, and he suppressed an urge to put his arms around his sides from the onslaught of coldness.

As soon as his three guests were safely inside, Kallus quickly activated the switch to roll the ramp upward. He turned around, giving them a long measuring look. Ezra Bridger had gotten much taller, these days he finally looked like a young man, not the cheeky street kid he had met several years ago. Kanan Jarrus looked much older than he remembered, partially he suspected because of the full beard the Jedi wore these days, but mainly it must have been stress. It must not have been easy to be an only one of his own kind, having a pupil and the whole Rebellion to look up to him as their only reminder of the times long gone.

And then there was Zeb. Garazeb Orrelios looked exactly like the day it all began more than one year ago; he stood tall and proud, in his eyes there was a spark of a warrior spirit, his lips crooked up in that toothed smirk he remembered. It seemed like at least the Lasat appeared genuinely pleased to see him again.

Kallus stood a little straighter, his lips twitching in a smile. He was about to say hello when Bridger decided to jump in with an accusatory tone.

“Okay, Kallus, what is so important that you made us come all the way with such a cryptic message.”

Kallus narrowed his eyes at the poor manners. “Nice to see you too, I guess.” He said sarcastically. There was no sense in prolonging the inevitable so he might as well went straight to the point.

“Even though I managed to get away this time and had the Lieutenant Lyste charged with high treason, as soon as I start feeding you more intel the Grand Admiral will realize that there is a traitor right under his nose. Without a doubt he would send for an Inquisitor and have all of his ranking officers submitted to their questioning. I need you to teach me shielding techniques to avoid their suspicion.”

The Jedi Knight crossed his arms and stroke his beard in thought. “I cannot teach you how to protect yourself from a mental onslaught of an Inqusitor. Only a Jedi can fight back. If your cover is blown, they can reap any information from you mind. The more you resist, the more painful it will be, and in the end they will still break you.”

_What will you do when they catch you? What will you do when they break you? What will you become?_

“I’ve been very careful with the Grand Admiral. I only need a basic training to avoid a general mind probe. Thrawn might be cold and ruthless but I highly doubt he would allow an Inquisitor to mind rape his own men. Unlike Darth Vader or Tarkin he appears to actually care for people under his command.” Unless they turned out to be traitors or saboteurs. The Force help those who invoked the wrath of Thrawn.

Jarrus gave him a long, hard stare with his empty gaze. “Do you realize what you are asking? You realize that means you have to give us permission to enter your mind? It could result in triggering unpleasant memories or developing a serious mental trauma if you try to resist.”

Kallus gulped. Yeah, he knew very well what he was getting himself into. Letting into his mind Jedi who threw him through the glass window when he revealed himself to be their ally. Giving them a perfect opportunity to take their revenge for all he had done to them in the past.

Yet it had to be done. There was too much at stake.

“Yes. You have my permission.” Do your worst.

Jarrus and Bridger exchanged a petrified glance. It seemed like the two Jedi didn’t like the prospect of entering his mind either. Zeb was watching the exchange with a mixture of worry and apprehension on his non-human features.

“Guys,” the Lasat growled out in his deep voice, “why don’t we invite him to the Ghost. These Imperial shuttles are not very cozy and something tells me it will take a while.”

The two Jedi didn’t seem thrilled at the idea of taking him aboard their modified VCX-100 light freighter. “Fine,” said the older one, “but if you touch anything I am telling Hera and she make you regret you’ve ever been born.”

Kallus put his hands up in a gesture of a mock surrender. “Fair enough.”

He lowered down the ramp again and followed them aboard the freighter, turning off the power in the Lambda shuttle. The cold outside made him shiver and grit his teeth, wondering how lucky he had been to have survived a night in such freezing hostile environment.

As he came aboard the _Ghost_ and removed the snow from his uniform with his gloves, he took a curious look around him. The ship was old and rusty but it held a strange, homely atmosphere, the corridors smelled of homemade food and freshly made coffee, and the mess in the common area suggested it was far more than a means of transportation to them.

It was their home.

His eyes kept scanning his surroundings, taking in all the inventory out of habit, wondering where they kept their weapons, in which drawer they kept their knives, which door could have possibly lead into the cockpit, noting all closets and doors, wondering how many hiding places there could be on such freighter. Without a doubt there would be hidden compartments that could be used to hide illegal cargo in case they resorted to smuggling.

“A cup of caf?” the Jedi Knight asked him, breaking his line of thoughts.

“Ah, thank you,” Kallus blurted out, surprised at his unexpected hospitality.

“Milk? Sweetener?”

“Two spoons of sweetener. No milk.” Kallus said as he sat down at the table with the other two, his gaze following the blind man’s precise movements with skepticism. Even though he had seen him wielding a lightsaber in a battle, it was still difficult to grasp that the Force could fully substitute for the loss of his vision. Such precise movements suggested that he had done this every day, and the certainty with which he opened the fridge and took out the milk and poured it generously into two cups without even trying to smell if he chose the correct container suggested that he had to be cooking as well. So Kanan Jarrus was the main chef of this establishment?

The blind Jedi walked over to them, giving each of them their preferred way of coffee. Lack of spoon at Zeb’s cup suggested the Lasat drank his coffee black, meanwhile Jarrus’s coffee had a creamy color and Bridger’s cup looked like there was more milk than coffee.

Kallus stirred his drink with a spoon and took a tentative sip. And almost spilled it in disgust from the excessively sweetness that drowned out any coffee flavor.

“Not to your liking?” Jarrus stirred his cup, taking a deep sip, savoring the creamy taste.

Kallus put the cup down with more force than necessary and cleared his throat. “I am afraid you poured too much sweetener.”

Jarrus kept his face completely impassive. “Sorry about that. Blind, you know.”

Kallus narrowed his eyes, gritting his teeth to prevent himself from snapping back. And tried his best to ignore the snicker coming out from the teenager. Okay, he would let them get away with this one since he basically set himself up. Fool me once…

“Look, I really need your help.” Kallus gritted out, swallowing his pride. “Just let’s get on with it.”

Jarrus finished his coffee and nodded, crossing his arms. “Okay. I have to warn you that I have never tried it out on a normal person before so don’t get your hopes too much up.”

Kallus nodded, he was prepared for the eventuality that this attempt would end up in failure. Still, the stakes were too high, he had to try.

Bridger chose that moment for his entrance. “Hey. You wanna fool an Inquisitor? You’ll have to learn how to play dirty. Try to cheat us.”

Bridger took out a pack of sabback cards modified for visually impaired players from his pocket and gave it over to him to deal the cards. Kallus eyed the cards with suspicion, if they simply wanted to continue in their childish pranks...

“Ezra has a point.” Jarrus said, his tone serious. “You need to be able to hide your thoughts from the Inquisitor. Beating us at our own game could be a good way to start.”

Fine. He was no stranger to sabbac. And lying and cheating was his day job. He would definitely beat those arrogant Jedi at their own game.

 

Twenty one losses in line later, Kallus finally gave up, putting his cards on the desk. If this was a lesson in teaching that trying to beat a Jedi at a card game was an impossible task, he’d get an A+.

“I fold. This is useless.”

“What?!” Bridger snatched his cards and looked at them. “Hey! Your cards were not so bad, look at mine!” The teenager showed him his hand, a combination of mostly low ranking cards. Jarrus showed him his hand too, this time the older Jedi had all the aces.

In each of the twenty one games, either the older or the younger Jedi won. It was simply statistically impossible to make him and Zeb lose so many times in row. No matter how hard he tried to keep his sabbac face, no matter how he tried to bluff and cheat, somehow one of the two Jedi always managed to turn the odds in their favor.

“It wasn’t useless,” the Jedi Knight said, looking straight at him with his empty gaze, “you were getting better at each game. In the first few games it had been so easy to pick up on your thoughts and predict your movements. With each game you tried to adapt and change your strategy, to blur your thoughts, to mislead us. It was quite impressive, actually.”

It might have been meant as a praise but to Kallus it still was a very poor consolation price. He growled in annoyance and desperation. Those two Jedi would give a Hutt a run for his money.

“Yeah,” Bridger added, deadpan, “two hundred games later and you might have won.”

Kallus clenched his hands into fists.

“Ezra,” the Lasat rolled his eyes, tapping his claws on the board, “you’re behaving like a child.”

That appeared to shut him up like a magic spell. Kallus took a pleasure at seeing that teenage punk sulking, taking a mental note for future reference that being compared to a child had been Bridger’s weak point.

“Let’s try something else...” Kallus ran a hand over his face, massaging the bridge of his nose. He had no idea if the Jedi were doing it on purpose but they were starting to give him a headache.

“Twenty questions!” Bridger supplied immediately.

Kallus let out a whimper. There was no way he would play twenty questions with Jedi after the previous fiasco.

“Do you have any hobbies?” Jarrus asked, apparently finding Bridger’s suggestion valid.

“No.”

There was a look like a predator circling his prey in both Jedi’s eyes, making Kallus flinch. They sensed his lie.

“No!” He repeated more forcefully. “What sort of things I could possibly do aboard a Star Destroyer?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” the older Jedi asked cryptically, “you tell us.”

Well, why not? It seemed like the best idea in the universe to tell them. He opened his mouth…

And closed it. Kriff it. He almost fell for it. They were using their Jedi mind tricks on him.

They continued staring at him, making it impossible to break their spell. He tried to bite his tongue, have the physical pain to help him focus on the present, to lower his eyes…

But there were _two_ Jedi sorcerers, pushing him, pulling him into their gaze, casting an invisible spell.

And he found himself opening his mouth and singing the main theme from one of his favorite operas that he first watched at the Galactic Opera House at Coruscant many years ago.

He only sang the first few verses before he realized what he had done.

Emperor's Black Bones!

“Holy Sith,” Bridger exclaimed, “he can sing, he can _really_ sing!”

Kallus’s cheeks burned in embarrassment, covering his mouth quickly with shaking hands. That spoiled brat! If Jarrus couldn’t teach that nerfherder manners, he would do it himself!

“I don’t see how this is going to protect me from an Inquisitor!” He snarled at both Jedi, his patience running out.

“Well, you could always sing him a song!” Bridger supplied and broke into into a laughter.

Zeb put a claw on his shoulder, the other one palming his face. “It’s not you,” he tried to soothe him, “Ezra does this to everyone.”

“Why am I even trying?” Kallus whined. “I should have had just fed you fake intel and have you eating straight from the Grand Admiral’s hand. I would have laughed out loud in a maniacal evil laugh and congratulated myself on how evil I am!”

“It is really so difficult to imagine I had a _life_ before I became an ISB Agent? That I was not born out of a cocoon?” Kallus shouted out. “That I had parents who raised me? That I had a normal, happy childhood?” He was so angry that he realized too late that it had been a wrong thing to say. Neither Jarrus nor Bridger had a normal childhood, they didn’t have parents, and they didn’t have a home. The Empire had taken everything from them.

They both looked like they were about jump at him and strangle him for striking so low. Especially Bridger had been shaking with anger, his fists curled in rage. “Ha! The next thing you say would be that you had a family.” He spat out that word in a mockery.

“Guess what,” Kallus was this close to smacking him in the face, “I had a fiancée.”

He realized too late that he broke the first and the most important rule of his training. Never release personal information. Now it was too late to take it back.

All three Rebels were sitting there, looking at him with bewildered expressions. It was Bridger who recovered first and verbally kicked him right in the groin. “As if there could be _anyone_ who would ever fell in love with you...”

Kallus was suddenly pulled into that dark blue eyes and found himself dropping to one knee on the balcony at his home with his girlfriend staring at him.

It was the day he had graduated from the Imperial Academy and one week later he would be sent to his first real battle assignment. His parents had been so proud at him, cheering at the graduation ceremony, and he felt like the whole world belonged to him at that moment. He had exactly seven days to enjoy his last moments as a civilian before he would proudly serve the Galactic Empire and help to bring peace and order to the whole universe.

And there had been one thing that he had to do before he left for who knew how long.

“ _Kar, love, will you marry me?”_ He repeated the words he had said so long ago.

His girlfriend covered her mouth with both of her hands and tears appeared in the corners of her eyes. _“Yes!”_ She had cried out. _“Yes, of course, I will!”_ She repeated and fell to her knees, pulling him into a crashing hug. They had both fell to the cold floor and started kissing each other passionately. He stroked her long raven hair, smelled her flowery perfume, and put a series of kisses down her neck, cleavage and collar bone, with one hand untangling the series of knots on her back that held her dress together, with the other hand reaching under her skirt…

“Ezra!” A voice yelled and snapped him out of it.

He was back at the _Ghost_ with the three Rebels surrounding him, two of them replaying one of his most private memories as if it had been a cheap third-rate romance holovid.

“You brat!” Kallus roared at the teenager. The Jedi Knight had at least enough decency to save him from the mortal embarrassment. “How dare you?! Do you know what happened to her? Your precious Rebellion killed her!”

She died few months later as a civilian casualty during a hit-and-run attack on a governmental building she had worked at. She had been at a wrong place at the wrong time. One of the first casualties of the upcoming civil war. He broke down in tears that day, scrapped his army application and went back to the Imperial graduate school to become a field operative. He would join the Imperial Security Bureau and he would make his personal mission to hunt down every single one of those traitors and terrorists.

“The Empire killed my parents! They destroyed whole planets!”

“Kallus, look, we are sorry for your loss,” The Jedi Knight tried to act as a mediator, “but the Empire did far more atrocious things. They wiped out entire species, they massacred civilians if they dared to talk back, they hunted down the Jedi Order and they even murdered Jedi children without mercy.”

“Jedi were traitors to the Republic!” Kallus would give them a history lesson if necessary. “They planned to assassinate the Chancellor! They all deserved to be executed for treason! And those children you are talking of were nothing but soldiers raised from an early age! They had to be stopped before they spread their treacherous Jedi ideals thorough the galaxy!”

Jarrus flinched at the last part as if an electric current went through his whole body. Kallus suddenly found himself in on an unfamiliar world, running for his life, away from the deafening sounds of blaster fire.

“ _Caleb, we cannot win this battle… you must run. Go. I'll be right behind you.”_ He heard a voice inside of his mind.

And he had run, run and didn’t look back because that voice always kept their promise.

_Pain._

_Screams._

_Crushing pain._

It felt as if all his nerve endings in his body were suddenly set on fire. He fell to his knees and tried to take a deep breath.

_Pain._

A presence slipping from his mind.

Getting weaker and weaker.

_No!_

And he could see right through the eyes of the other person, falling down to the ground, his vision getting blurry, his consciousness slipping away, his heart stopping its beat.

There was a tunnel, a light at the end of the tunnel and then…

 _Nothing_.

There was nothing.

And then it all started replaying over and over again.

“Kanan!” A voice from a distance roared all around him. “Kanan! Stop! You are hurting him!”

Kallus came to his senses, his heart pounding as he had been running for his life, his head throbbing from a massive migraine, his throat completely dry. He realized he must have been screaming because his throat hurt like as if his tonsils had been ripped out from him without pain relief medication.

He was breathing too fast and his breaths were shallow. He needed to calm down or he was about to render himself unconscious. In and out.

In and out.

“What...” He breathed out. “What happened?” he asked the Rebels who had been watching him with completely shocked expressions.

Just what in the blazes happened…

He tried to stand up but his legs gave way under him, causing him to fall face on the floor, hitting his nose. The physical pain helped, actually. It helped him to focus on the present.

Kallus looked up at Jedi Jarrus whose face was still frozen in an expression of horror. Horror and something else. Revulsion? Disgust? Self-loathing? He was gaping like a fish, his mouth hanging open, no sound coming from his throat. Then suddenly he jumped in his seat and took a deep breath.

“This session is over!” The Jedi’s voice sounded like a thunder to his eyes, and he couldn’t help to put his hands over his ears, shielding him from the almighty roar.

Kallus barked out a short laugh, feeling the bile rising at the back of his throat. “I think I am about to throw up.”

He could barely remember the way to the refresher, his head was spinning and he felt really, really sick. He had the impression someone was guiding him, carrying him to the refresher, opened the door and shut it behind him, but he couldn’t possibly remember who it could have been.

After he emptied the content of his stomach to the sink and washed his face, Kallus leaned hard against the cold metal wall and slowly sagged down to floor, he still couldn’t comprehend what happened.

He had been arguing with Jarrus when suddenly the other man pulled him inside his mind, locked him up in his worst nightmare, and made him die, over and over again. No, it was not _him_ dying there, it had been someone else. Someone very close to Jarrus.

He just continued lying there, his head against the wall, his breathing slowly becoming normal, his heart slowly coming back to its usual rate. However, that massive, colossal headache remained.

“You okay?” Came a voice belonging to none other than the Lasat. Of course, it had to be Zeb who carried him off to the refresher.

“I think so,” he called out but it didn’t even remind him of his own voice, “you may come in.”

The door opened with a screeching sound that caused him to wince, and he could see the Lasat standing hesitantly in front of the door, his yellow eyes looking him up and down.

“Karabast. You look like you went through hell.”

Kallus barked out a laugh. “Oh, I think _did_ go through hell.” Yeah, he did. It must have been. Kanan Jarrus’s personal hell, at least.

The Lasat hesitantly walked inside and offered him an arm to stand up. Kallus threw one look at the purple arm and shook his head, taking that arm and using it as a support to steel himself. He had no more dignity left after this, there was no reason to refuse the Lasat’s help when offered.

“Hey, we happen to have an empty cabin, you know,” Zeb muttered on their way to the Ghost’s personal cabins’ area, “you can get some rest, you look like you need it.” Kallus found that he couldn’t argue with the Lasat’s logic, rest seemed like a _wonderful_ idea right now.

The Lasat punched the side panel at the door and Kallus found himself inside of an empty two bunk cabin. The cabine itself was spartially-equipped, small and similar enough to his cabin aboard Imperial ships, but all walls were decorated by various artworks, all made by the same artist.

Sabine Wren.

“Zeb, I couldn’t possibly...”

“Uurgh,” the Lasat growled out, patting his claw on his head, “Sabine left, not long ago, taking all her stuff with her,” he fumed aloud, his fur rippling in an expression Kallus couldn’t interpret, “this is the only free cabin we have, I am sharing my bunk with Ezra.”

Gathering information was his daily bread. So Sabine Wren had left them recently? If she merely left for a solo mission she wouldn’t have taken all her things, which meant she must have been either reassigned to another Rebel cell or left the Rebellion completely. Considering that these particular Rebels didn’t follow standard military protocol it meant the reassignment had been unlikely. But why would she leave them behind? They all had strong emotional attachments to each other.

He shook his head. This was not right, they were his allies now, he was not supposed to be gathering information on them. Yet this little mental exercise helped to tone down that massive headache, and he couldn’t stop himself from scanning and cataloging all the wall paintings and graffiti in the room.

He couldn’t help wondering how much would Grand Admiral Thrawn pay just for a sneak peak. And a tiny, completely unreasonable part of his mind, supplied an idea that maybe Thrawn had been so reluctant to destroy the _Ghost_ precisely because there could be works of art aboard. To the Grand Admiral, the _Ghost_ had been his main clue to the location of the Rebel base, but seeing this cabin Kallus grew suspicious that the blue alien would be reluctant to destroy it even after he found what he wanted from them.

His eyes finally rested on the big caricature portrait above the upper bunk. It looked like a family portrait, really, with all five members smiling, Zeb having his arm over Bridger’s shoulders, trying not to strangle him. Kallus let out a snicker at that. Wren even included the droid.

There were more funny portraits, his favorite one being probably the one where Bridger was screaming fully from his lungs, running away from Zeb and the droid. It appeared that the teenage Jedi had been pushing everybody’s buttons.

And then his eyes fell on a small caricature next to it, it appeared to be Zeb, his face beaming in ear to ear smile, in a crushing hug with…

“Is that supposed to be _me_?” Kallus exclaimed, his jaw lowering in shock. He blinked several times, maybe he only imagined it but… no, it definitely looked like him, except for that huge beaming smile. He never grinned like that, ever.

 _Ever_.

“Ehehehe,” the Lasat laughed awkwardly, still supporting him with body, “after I told them about our little adventure they were picking up on me for weeks. Sabine even decided to make a commemorative doodle.”

Kallus straightened, abruptly pulling himself away from the lasat. To say the situation was embarrassing would be a grave understatement. “They ridiculed you because of me?”

“No!” The Lasat protested. “No… It was just teasing, you know, they would have never done something like that. They are not bad people.”

Kallus sighed and lied down at the lower bunk, letting his body relax on the soft mattress. “Honestly, Zeb,” he admitted, “I don’t know what to think of them. They made their opinion of me quite clear today.”

The lasat kept staring at him, expression in that purple face alien and unreadable. “They don’t know you.”

_And you do?_

_Do you know how many people I killed? Murdered in cold blood? Tortured? Do you know how hard a time I have looking at myself in the mirror these days?_

“I… I asked questions.” He said aloud, his voice barely a whisper. “And I didn’t like the answers. It took me long time to admit it but...” he kept staring at that ridiculous picture, “you were right. And I was wrong. I had been fighting on the wrong side all my life.”

There it was. He said it aloud. He took a deep breath, suddenly feeling much lighter, like an immense weight was taken from his shoulders.

“That’s all I asked.” The Lasat shrugged and stroked his chin, his tone full of a strange melancholy.

“All you asked? Auch.” Kallus shot up and banged his head on the low ceiling. The second time today! The universe was clearly trying to tell him something. “I destroyed your world!”

Silence. A deafening silence that lasted for several heartbeats.

“Yeah, you did.” A dagger ripped right through his heart. “And killing you won’t bring it back. These things cannot be undone, you know. But you can prevent it from happening all over again somewhere else.”

Kallus felt his cheeks burn in shame. This was too much. When he had watched their homeworld burn, he thought Lasats to be nothing but mere primitive aliens, very strong and very deadly aliens, but primitive all the same. He thought there was nothing wrong with removing such filth from the face of the galaxy, he even felt proud at it. Considered it one of his highest accomplishments.

Now he knew that he played a major role at committing a genocide against a highly intelligent, irreplaceable non-human species. A species so noble that a member of that race took mercy on him.

Kallus remembered the memory that Jarrus so ruthlessly threw at him. He lived through a death of a one person and it almost broke him. Yet at the same he caused deaths of _millions_ sentient beings.

His mind wandered to the pill in his breast pocket that he kept with himself all times lately. It was a standard issue self-administered poison pill that would melt instantly on one’s tongue and cause painless death. A requirement for all undercover ISB operatives. Rebel operatives carried similar suicide pills nicknamed ‘lullabies.’ He had carried it with him years ago during his many covert missions; once his cover had been blown up, the situation so desperate that he had even considered swallowing the pill. A true patriot’s death.

After his first Fulcrum broadcast, he started carrying the pill with himself once again. He knew too well what happened to traitors, he himself lead interrogation of several traitors in the past. He knew what had to be done in case his identity was compromised. No matter if today’s practice session with the Jedi worked out or not he knew what was required from him when the time came.

And the time would come, eventually.

All double agents died in the field, sooner or later. He considered himself to be a very good agent to have broadcast as a Fulcrum for almost one year. In his experience no other double agent lasted so long.

The great game, it was called. There was nothing great about it.

“Well, maybe I should leave you to rest,” the Lasat hesitantly offered, getting up and heading toward the door.

“No!” Kallus cried out, maybe too forcefully because it made Zeb startle in surprise. “No!” He repeated once more, his voice even. “And I am in no mood for sleep, anyway. Let’s go back to the common area, get a drink of water or something stronger.”

Right now such a small cabin seemed downright claustrophobic. He never had a problem with close space before but there was a first time for everything.

And so they walked in silence, side by side, and when they reached the common area, they found Kanan Jarrus waiting for them there.

Kallus stiffened, taking a deep breath before turning to face the Jedi. The other man’s empty gaze was focused in Kallus’s general direction, his facial expression contorted in pain, his shoulders slouched, no longer looking like a mighty Jedi Knight but rather a fragile broken man.

“Kallus, look,” the Jedi began clumsily, “I want to apologize. I should have never had lashed out like I that. I allowed my emotions to get better of me, I let anger and hate to cloud my actions. That should have never had happened.”

Kallus closed his eyes for a moment. He could hardly blame Jarrus for losing his control like that, especially after all the things Kallus had done to him in the past, after he had tortured him, humiliated him, killed many of his close friends in combat. No, he couldn’t blame him. At all.

Zeb barked out an awkward laugh, putting an arm behind his head, stroking the fur on the back of his head in Lasat’s expression of unease. “What would you say to a cup of a Lasan green tea?” He offered. “I drink it every now and then, you know, it’s really good after a hectic day.” He spread his arms wide and shrugged. “They say it has a soothing and mildly sedative effect. Whatever.”

Kallus’s heart skipped a beat. Zeb still had a box of tea from his long dead homeworld? It must have been like a treasure for him, a relic from his past. And he was willing to share it with him, the Butcher of Lasan?

He tried hard to keep his voice even. “Thank you, Zeb.” Oh, _kriff it_ , it must have been obvious to everybody he was failing. “It would be an honor.”

The Lasat barked another awkward laugh and left the common area, leaving him alone with the broken Jedi Knight. After several minutes of a deafening silence, Kallus decided to break the ice. “There is no need to apologize, Jarrus. I understand, believe me, I do.”

“No, you don’t.” Jarrus snapped. “Jedi cannot allow their emotions to rule their actions. Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, and hate leads to suffering.” The Jedi recited the words like an old mantra. “It is a path to the Dark Side. Once a Jedi starts down the dark path, forever it will dominate their destiny.”

No, Kallus didn’t understand. Philosophy has never been one of his strong points. But he has seen Darth Vader and the Grand Inquisitor in action, he knew how much destruction someone with their preternatural abilities could unleash upon the galaxy. And probably every being in the galaxy has seen Imperial propaganda holovids about rogue Jedi who escaped the Order 66 and lost their minds, seeking revenge for their fallen comrades in battle, slaughtering whole platoons of Clone Troopers in their suicidal death throes. The Empire made sure to capture every single such occasion on a holotape, broadcasting it live for every being in the galaxy to see. Who would have thought that live unaltered feed from a battle with insane Jedi had made a bigger impact than anything that COMPNOR ever came up with afterward.

If Jarrus was right and every Jedi had the potential to become an unstoppable killing machine… He shuddered at the thought. Perhaps the Empire was right, perhaps Jedi were simply too dangerous to let loose in the galaxy.

“I reached into your mind with a clear intent to cause you suffering. I should have never let you experience the death of an another being, it is not for ordinary people to see. It is just a curse of us Force Sensitives.”

Yes. Things between the heaven and hell were not for ordinary men to see. He would never, ever be able to forget what it felt like to experience dying firsthand, the physical agony, the overwhelming sense of finality, the horrible, crushing realization of ‘ _this is it, it is over, and there is nothing more_.’ Such knowledge was not for mortal men to know. Nothing would ever be the same. The pill in his pocket suddenly became thousand times heavier.

How come Jarrus hadn’t lost his mind after going through something like this when he had been a mere child? No wonder the Grand Inquisitor failed to get any information from him, there was nothing he could do that Jarrus had not experienced before.

“Do all Masters and Padawan share a similar connection?” It was probably the worst thing he could have said but all his life as Imperial Enforcer he had been training to identify and eliminate threats. And if all it took make Force Users go berserk was to kill their loved ones…

“I guess,” it appeared that the Jedi completely missed where he had been going, “I don’t know. In the Old Republic, children who were strong enough to become Jedi were taken away from their parents right from the cradle, nursed by Jedi Elders from their early childhood and taught how to control their impulses and emotions. After they passed that stage, Pawadans were assigned a Master who oversaw their training and guided them until they reached Knighthood.”

Jarrus sighed and walked over to the table with unnatural precision for a blind man, sagging down to the chair. Kallus followed him without a word, taking a seat at the opposite side of the table.

“I never reached the Knighthood. How am I even supposed to raise a Padawan when I cannot even handle myself.” Jarrus let out in a whisper. He looked so vulnerable that Kallus had almost felt pity for him, but pity would be last thing the Jedi wanted at this moment. He needed somebody who would listen to him, who would hear his life story and nod in acknowledgment, who would not judge him or offer useless advice. And all ISB operatives received an advanced psychological training. Of course, the training mostly focused on getting into the heads of their enemies, but it counted as a psychological training nonetheless.

Kallus was the proverbial father of this dysfunctional family, suffering in silence from his inner demons to serve as a healthy parental role model for Ezra Bridger. No wonder the kid lacked basic manners. What happened to the proverbial mother?

“Lately I have been afraid for Ezra,” the Jedi continued, cupping his head in his hands, “he has been so obsessed by a rogue Sith who tried to snatch him away from me and make him his apprentice.”

Kallus’s hairs on his back stood up in horror. A rogue Sith had been trying to sway Bridger to the Dark Side?

“In the end I managed to stop him. Or at least I hope so. For the moment. I am afraid that deep down he is still curious about him, still susceptible to his lies.” Jarrus let out a sound that could have been a cry of agony. “I am afraid he would try to strike him down.”

And fall to the Dark Side in the process?

Kallus didn’t try pretending to grasp such metaphysical questions. He understood only one thing, if Bridger fell to the Dark Side, he would pose a danger to the whole universe. The galaxy could not afford another Sith Lord. He knew Jarrus would try to come and end him, Kallus would have done the same if he had the power and means to do so, and he knew it would break Jarrus’s heart.

What a wonderful dysfunctional family they were.

“I am sorry for that little peek into your love life, too,” the Jedi abruptly switched the topic, “Ezra really struck low with that one. I will so let him eat that when he finally brings someone home.”

Kallus broke into a laugh, an honest teary eyed laugh he had not experienced in a very long time. “Oh, I’d give anything to be there when that happens. Payback time!” He wiped that tear from a corner of his eye, a genuine smile crossing his lips. “But it’s not a big deal, really, I am rather fond of that memory.” And he was. It might have been embarrassing to have them see that once he too had been a love struck teenager but at the same time he felt grateful that Bridger dug up that deep buried memory before became an ISB Agent. It felt like a lifetime ago.

“I am glad at least _someone_ had their share of healthy relationships,” Jarrus muttered bitterly, unintentionally giving away perhaps too much personal information, “The Jedi Order had very strict rules on non-attachment policies.” Interesting. Well, he supposed it made sense after what he had had the opportunity to witness. Still…

“But surely, after you left the Jedi Order, there must have been someone...” Kallus said lightly, having the question hanging in the air.

Jarrus flinched, his expression getting grim. “Sure there was… And just like with everything else, I’ve screwed up royally.” Ah, so there went the proverbial mother. The Empire intercepted some of their transmissions, and Kallus could positively remember Captain Syndulla calling Jarrus ‘ _Dear’_ in their earlier conversations. Was there trouble in the paradise?

“You didn’t quote the non-attachment rule to her, did you?” Kallus asked half jokingly. Surely Jarrus wouldn’t be _that_ stupid…

“You bet I did.” Jarrus growled out, leaning back into the chair, crossing his arms. Kallus felt an urge to smack that face, either that or ask how much Jarrus would be willing to pay per hour. That blind Jedi needed a therapist.

“It was a love at the first sight,” Jarrus continued after a moment, his voice dreamy and distant. “The words failed me, literally. She was the reason I joined this little Rebellion in the first place. And don’t you dare to laugh at that!” Jarrus barked at him, he must have sensed up the snicker that Kallus was about to let out.

“In the beginning it was just her, I, and the _Ghost_. Okay, and the Chopper, of course. That annoying droid had been so jealous at me in the beginning.”

Chopper? Ah, the C1 unit, Kallus shook his head at the sentimentality Rebels held for their droids. To the Empire, droids were nothing but tools, useful and efficient tools some times, but tools nevertheless. Rebels’ unhealthy attachment with their machines was nothing but weakness and a possible security hazard that could be used against them. Sooner or later the Grand Admiral would capture one of the units they were so fond of using and re-program it to spy on them. That’s what Kallus would have done at least.

“We had the whole galaxy for ourselves...” Jarrus continued his monologue, “And then we started getting more members until we finally got to Ezra, becoming a one big happy family on a road trip.”

Kallus couldn’t possibly ask for a better opening. “So what happened?” Not that he didn’t know.

Jarrus focused his empty gaze on him, if the looks could kill… “You _really_ have to ask?” The Jedi spat it out like a venom. “You happened, the Grand Inquisitor happened, more Inquisitors happened, Darth Vader happened, Maul happened, _this_ happened,” he pointed in the general direction of his dead eyes, “what more is there… yeah, lately the creepy blue guy happened.”

Kallus had to bite his tongue to stop himself from laughing. After all they did to him today… It was so tempting to sneer at his former enemy’s misfortune, a fitting epitaph to his gravestone ‘ _Agent Kallus, died after he laughed into the face of a Jedi Knight_.’ Instead, he chose to say something else.

“I would expect that all that would only bring you closer.”

Jarrus sighed. “At first it did,” he admitted. “But then it got more and more dangerous, I got scared, and I suggested Hera that maybe we should take a break. Fighting the Empire means everything to her, it’s all she has ever known, I thought she would welcome an opportunity to focus on her missions, with the Rebellion is growing bigger and bigger lately… She even told me ‘ _Sure. It’s fine. Do whatever you want_.’”

And that was it, Kallus lost it. He just couldn’t keep a straight face anymore. The great Kanan Jarrus, the Jedi Knight, the man who fought like a hundred men, the man who ate his Stormtroopers for breakfast… was a complete, _utter_ moron when it came to women.

Oh, this was so worth it. He hoped he could have it added to his epitaph.

“You know,” he said between the fits of laughter, “when women say such things they mean complete opposite.”

The Jedi Knight not only had not ignited his lightsaber and chopped his head off, but he slouched even further into the seat and looked like he wanted to just evaporate into the thin air. “Yeah, I realize that now,” Jarrus murmured.

Okay, enough. Apology accepted, Jedi Jarrus. Which reminded him…

“Kanan Jarrus isn’t your real name, is it?”

Jarrus appeared to be picking up the remains of his dignity, straightening up in his chair. “It is not. I was born Caleb Dume. I gave up the name after the Jedi Purges. It isn’t exactly common knowledge.”

“Nice to meet you, Caleb Dume,” Kallus said warmly, for the first time feeling like talking to an ally rather than a foe, “I am Crix Madine. Or I was. A lifetime ago.”

The blind man reached out with his right hand toward him, and he immediately took it and gave him a firm handshake. Finally, a truce. One day, there could perhaps even be a friendship. If both of them lived long enough.

“Peace, Crix, or Kallus, whatever you prefer,” the Jedi said awkwardly, “I’d rather be called Kanan Jarrus though. Like you said, Caleb Dume sounds like… a lifetime ago.”

He could only nod in agreement. “Kallus is acceptable, Kanan.”

There was suddenly a loud knock on the metallic wall and the Lasat appeared in the corridor with a tea service tray in his hands. “The tea is ready, guys,” he growled out in his deep voice, “might be a little bit cold, though.”

Kallus gave him a chuckle, taking a cup from the tray and accepting it with a polite bow. If nothing, he would at least teach these Rebels some Imperial manners. “Thank you, Zeb. And I would be honored if you called me Crix.”

The Lasat startled, his fur rippling, “I weren’t listening, I swear!” He cried out in defense, almost spilling the tea intended for Kanan.

Kallus’s expression softened. “I know you weren’t. I was aware of the exact moment you came within a hearing distance. Perks of being an ISB Agent.” He gave him a mischievous smile.

He stared at the pale green liquid in anticipation. This could have been very well the very last Lasan tea out in the galaxy. He put the cup to his lips and let the liquid roll on his tongue, it had a unique, rich taste, initially astringent, followed by a lingering sweetness. To him, it was perfect.

He noticed that the Lasat was watching with curiosity written all over his furry face. “Once again, thank you. It tastes very good.” He admitted aloud, hiding a smirk behind another sip at the ear to ear toothed grin Zeb was giving him. “Perhaps Kanan would also like to have a sip before the tea gets cold?”

The Jedi certainly didn’t look pleased to be left forgotten, his brow furrowed in a frown. Kallus took one more sip at the sight of a grumpy expression on the other man’s face, if he snickered again their fragile truce would have been shattered.

They finished the rest of the tea in a comfortable silence, and when Zeb took their cups away and left to have them put into the dishwasher, Kanan decided to go back to business.

“Look, Kallus, I know we probably haven’t started out right today,” Kanan said hesitantly, “Why don’t we try a different approach?”

Kallus suppressed a grimace. After their earlier incident the last thing he wanted was to let the Jedi Knight roam free inside of his mind again. “What do you suggest?” He asked aloud.

“Hmmm,” Kanan mused aloud, “let’s try Jedi Meditation instead.”

Kallus raised an eyebrow. Jedi Meditation? “Very well,” he shrugged. “What am I supposed to do?”

Jarrus stood up from the table and walked over to the floor, sitting down cross-legged. Kallus tilted a head to his side and followed his example.

“Okay” he asked when he found a comfortable sitting position, “What now?”

Kallus never practiced meditation before, he was familiar with the concept, of course, but he very much preferred work out in the gym. He had to keep his body in prime shape anyway, and nothing cleared out his head better than a heavy work out.

Kanan placed his hands in front of him, palm upwards. “Since you are not a Force User, it might be necessary to amplify the transfer by a physical connection. Touch my palms, I think fingertips would be enough.”

Kallus furrowed his brow in disbelief but decided to humor the Jedi Knight. He took off his gloves and put his palms above his, their fingertips touching. “Okay, what am I supposed to--?”

He could feel a brush of Kanan’s mind all around him. He shuddered but it was not the same feeling like earlier, this time there was a gentle, indescribable brush of… _something_ , like a touch of a feather, nothing more.

It was right there, at the back of his mind, gently calming him down, slowly going through his consciousness layers, one by one, not stabbing right through his core like the last time.

There was a projection of _calm_ , _peace_ , _warmth_.

Oh, he could do _warmth_.

He remembered the glowing meteorite, back in his quarters at his ship. Contrary to his expectation, the meteorite still emanated some warmth even thought the glow had dimmed.

 _Use it._ A voice all around him said.

What do you mean, use it? How? He wanted to reply but it seemed like a one sided transmission. He was not a Force Sensitive, he couldn’t reply back to Kanan.

The other man must have sensed his thoughts, though, for Kallus could hear the voice all around him again.

_Use that warmth as a shield. Hide your Fulcrum identity beneath it. They won’t find it unless they know what to look for._

Hide it beneath the warmth, easier said than done. Just how he was supposed to do that?

He tried. Again and again, and again. He tried like thousand times but to no avail.

 _Do or do not, there is no try._ The voice all around him said and Kallus could sense _annoyance_ from a distance. Great, the Jedi was losing his patience with him.

And so he _did_ . He did not _try_ . He simply _did_.

And it all fell into the place. He had no idea how long they spent like that, only when he finally opened his eyes he could see Zeb and Bridger staring at him with worried expressions.

“What?” Kallus startled. “How long have we been out?”

“Maybe six hours or so, it’s already the next morning,” the young man answered with a shrug, “I told Zeb not to disturb you but he was getting worried.”

Kallus looked at the Jedi Knight with anticipation. Did it work? He couldn’t feel any change. But he didn’t feel fatigue at all, even if it had not worked this Jedi Meditation session gave him at least a good night sleep. “So?” he asked aloud.

Kanan stroke his beard, lost in thoughts. “I think it worked. It would not stop an Inquisitor if they already knew you had betrayed them but if they are merely suspicious…” He shrugged. “Your Fulcrum identity is buried deep enough from a general mind scan or even a questioning. And it is definitely safe from interrogation droids.”

“That would have to be enough,” Kallus said finally and stood up, surprised that his joints and legs did not ache at all from several hours of sitting in a cross-legged position. At the moment, his identity was safe. “I will have to return to to the headquarters before it becomes suspicious.”

He helped Kanan to get up to his feet and gave them all a polite bow. “Thank you, Kanan, Bridger,” he focused his gaze at the Lasat, giving him his best imitation of the Lasat greeting Zeb showed him. “Zeb.”

He had to leave before those Rebels started rubbing off on him. Really, there was only so much chaos and bickering he could bear.

He had to admit, though, that just in one day with them he had laughed and smiled more than in a decade. His mind went back to the doodle of their big dysfunctional family. He still couldn’t believe they included _him_ of all the people, even if it was only to make fun of Zeb.

He had to go before they infected him with that ridiculous _sentimentality_. It was more contagious than a plague.

He knew what he had to do, how it would all end, and he knew the Lasat had seen it in his eyes. There was no need to say goodbye. Despite all their differences they were two soldiers who could understand each other perfectly. He would continue broadcasting, feeding the intel to the Rebellion. And if his identity were discovered, and he knew it would eventually, he would either swallow the pill before the ISB came for him, or he would use his gun to put a bolt right through the Grand Admiral’s heart… and then his. He made his peace with the world. He would not let his knowledge of the Rebellion fall into the Grand Admiral's hands. 

Yet as he came back to his Lambda shuttle and started the engine, he still couldn’t shrug off that sense of hope that one day he could be the next addition to their dysfunctional family.

_Hope._

Well, they said that Rebellions were built on hope.

 

**THE END**

 

**Author's Note:**

> *salutes* My tribute to a sinner who is trying to repent. 
> 
> I am so happy people like my dramatic revelation. He totally looks like General Madine (Plus they share very similar background - Madine started out as Imperial Army officer who formed and led the Storm Commandos of the Imperial military. When he defected to the Alliance, he had to deal with so much distrust and animosity).  
> Guess what Madine said to the firing squad?  
> -"Any last words?"  
> -"Not to you."
> 
> Oh yeah, and he can _sing._ Just listen how his voice goes up and down in The Honorable Ones. He can sing. #Canon
> 
> Huge thanks to ImperialGirl for reading this through and fixing my grammar. English is not my first language so past tenses are so confusing to me. Why do you need more than one past tense, really?  
> (She is waiting for me right there with a firing squad. My Imperial heart is bleeding... I can't believe I wrote such Rebel propaganda fic :-) . Kallus is right, their sentimentality is more contagious than plague. )


End file.
